Crawling Ashore
by youthere
Summary: Okay, so everyone has their own version of THE fight i.e. the night Sam left for Stanford and events leading up to it, but spare a few moments for this one, anyway: Rating may be overly paranoid, but just to be safe...
1. Chapter 1

Okay, so every one has their own version of THE fight i.e. the night Sam left for Stanford and events leading up to it, but spare a few moments for this one, anyway :) Should be about 3 chapters when ready.

(yeah, I know cheap motels very seldom have bathtubs, but let's suppose this one does)

CRAWLING ASHORE

O

Despite his tall stature Sam had nearly perfected the art of going unnoticed. He still looked too young for people to buy him as a fed or a marshal or whatever they were posing as each time. But Dean and John took care of waving badges and looking convincing and Sam just sort of hung in the background. Mostly people seemed to assume he had some job to do for the other two and just left it at that. When he desperately needed a cover he posed as a tech assistant. Apparently those could look young.

That was how he got into Andy Carey's bathroom: as the assistant of the crime scene photographer ("Dean Carter"). They were at Carey's house investigating a series of mysterious drownings. So far three young men had been drowned in their own bathtubs and the only thing the Winchesters could come up with was that it was some kind of angry spirit. They could not find any clear pattern to the choice of victims (other than them being young males) or locations and had no idea who's ghost it was or what object or place it was tied to. They had been researching the thing for days and what initially looked like a simple in and out job was turning out to be one frustrating mess.

Andy Carey's body floated in the cracked, mustard yellow bathtub. He was still wearing his work uniform of cheap polyester. _Greenleaves - Cross State Convenience Stores. _He had tried to claw his way out of the water so desperately that he had torn some of his fingernails clean off, and blood from his hands tinted the water a light red.In their years on the hunt the Winchesters had gotten pretty used to grisly sights and Sam had seen way worse than this. But there was a sadness in the air that was getting to him. The house felt empty. And he knew it wasn't because it's owner had been lying dead in the bathroom for the last three days (before being discovered by complete coinsidense).He knew with a certainty that it had always been empty. No family photos, no debris of a life lived strewn around. Just some groceries, a TV and a few changes of clothes. Nothing to show that anyone had ever really lived there, cared about the place, made any kind of home there. If there had been a grieving widow or a striken friend crying in the other room it would almost have been ... better ... somehow. But there was nobody. Just cops and hunters. Sam could feel an air of depression surrounding the dead man's house, a veary listlessness so thick you could almost choke on it.

O

As they left the rundown house and climbed into the Impala Sam shot sideways glances at the other two Winchesters. His father wore an expression of weary annoiance, Sam guessed it was less because of the scene they had just examined than because they had no further leads on their spirit. In the light from the passing lamp posts Dean looked worn out, so much older than he really was. He sat uncharacteristically quiet, rubbing his hand over his face every so often and staring off out the window as they drove towards the motel they called home this time.

Sam allowed his body to slump into the back seat. God, he was tired. _Tired of sitting in this goddamn car._ He tried to squash the insidious little thought but his mind rambled on. _Tired of shitty motels, tired of watching people die, tired of wondering when it'll be Dad or Dean lying there..._ With an effort, he stopped himself. _Don't even go there._

Instinctively his hand flew up to his breast pocket. Lying snug in the inside of his jacket was a letter from Stanford University. Full ride. A ticket out of here. It had been lying in his pocket for a week now and he still hadn't told his family that he had received an answer. Or that he had applied, for that matter. He knew he would have to soon, but there was always a reason to postpone it. He should probably do it now. Get it over with.  
_But he was just to goddamn tired_.

O

They entered their motel room in silence, finding small things to do, milling around listlessly. Sam went into the bathroom to brush his teeth, mostly because he couldn't think of anything else to do.

At first he didn't notice anything strange. Then he looked to his left and saw the bathtub, full to the brim. In an ice cold flash he realized exactly what was about to happen. He turned around, his movements painfully slow to his own perception, as if the air itself was resisting his movements, trapping him. He started to call out to Dean, saw his brother look up, and then the door slammed shut and he felt an incredible force hit his side, sending him skidding along the floor. He slammed into the bathtub, and then felt himself lifted up bodily and thrown into the wall above it. For a second he felt the grip of two terribly strong hands on his arms and then it was back to an elemental force, slamming him into the water, his head banging hard against the bottom of the tub.

Sitting on his bed Dean heard his brother call out, his cry cut short as the door slammed and then the sound of thuds and splashing. In a heartbeat he was at the bathroom door, throwing his body against it, kicking it, calling out Sam's name. John immediately realized what had happened and was with him in an instant, but all they could do was hammer on the door and listen terrified to the sounds of splashing, images of the scene from Carey's bathroom blocking out every other thought.

Lungs burning, Sam struggled against the thing holding him down. But there was nothing to fight, no hands holding him, only inexorable pressure pinning him to the bottom of the tub. For a split second he thought he could see a face floating over the crust of the water, but as he flailed helplessly at it it disappeared as if it had never been there. He could feel his lungs cramp, trying against his conscious efforts to draw breath, draw in the water. He tried to kick against the bottom of the tub grabbing the edges with both hands, but it was useless and he could feel his own strength giving way, hands slipping on the wet porcelain. The sounds of his brother and father shouting seemed to be coming from a long way away. The water in the bathtub filled his nose and mouth and became the crest of a silent tidal wave. In the strange hush of it Sam felt himself carried away.

Dean continued throwing himself desperately against the door. He never even realised John had left his side until he heard his father's voice ordering him to get out of the way and looked up to see him hefting the fire axe from the hallway, ready to swing. But just as he lifted the axe the door suddenly gave way and swung silently inwards, into a horrifyingly still bathroom.


	2. Chapter 2

**A.N. Here's the second chapter. I'm new 'round here so I'm still working out the **

**kinks of posting on this site. The chap didn't come in yesterday... but here it is :)**

**Disclamer: I forgot the disclamer last time, but you didn't really think I owned**

**Supernatural did'ya:) Nope, sorry to say I don't.**

CRAWLING ASHORE

O

_Dean continued throwing himself desperately against the door. He never even _

_realised John had left his side until he heard his father's voice ordering him to get out _

_of the way and looked up to see him hefting the fire axe from the hallway, ready to _

_swing. But just as he lifted the axe the door suddenly gave way and swung silently _

_inwards, into a horrifyingly still bathroom._

O

For a second the father and son just stood therre frozen in the terror of that silence.

John was first to recover and in two steps he was standing over the bathtub, pulling

an inert Sam out by the shoulders. Dean staggered to his side as he laid his younger

son on the floor and felt for his pulse with shaking fingers. There was nothing. Sam

lay on the floor soaking, eyes half open and empty, no breath, no heartbeat.

Almost on autopilot John started CPR. The seconds streched torturously as they

worked. John giving compressions, muttering desperately to himself, to his son and

even the god he didn't believe in. Dean giving mouth to mouth, numbly fighting to

keep his own breathing regular, not to break down sobbing, not to throw up all over

his brother's face.

Suddenly there was a flicker in Sam's half-closed eyes. His hand flew up as if to pull

himself up out of unconsciousness and he started to cough wildly. Coughing and

wretching as the water from the tub was expelled from his lungs, he lay pale and

shaking on the floor clutching his father's sleeve.

Dean couldn't stop the tears from running down his face. He stared at his father

stroking his brother's hair, muttering soothing words, shaking and crying himself.

And Dean knew that there was nothing he wouldn't do for those two. There was

nothing he wouldn't do to keep them safe, to hold on to this small motley family

which was the centre of his world.

O

Sam couldn't stop shaking. He wasn't sure if it was emotional aftershock or simply a

physical reaction to what his body had just been put through. _Yeah, dying can take it _

_out of you_. The pain in his battered muscles and strained lungs and throat had dulled

somewhat, but he still ached pretty much everywhere. His head felt like it was

several sizes bigger on the inside than the outside: Dean had figured he might have a

slight concussion from hitting the bottom of the tub. Sam went to touch the small

gash in the back of his head, which his big brother had dressed earlier, but somehow

the small movement seemed too complicated and he simply continued to sit still and

focused on keeping the room from spinning.

The memories of the last hour were chaotic and jumbled in his head. He remembered

the world twisting and screaming, his father's voice, Dean's face awash with relief.

His brother and father had half carried him out into the room, helped him into dry

clothes and bundled him up in blankets and comforters. Dean had gotten them coffee

from the vending machine, although in retrospect something non-caffinated would

have been a better idea. He had checked his brother over for injuries,_they were _

_getting to be experts at that weren't they...?,_ asking if he wanted to go to the hospital.

Sam had said no. He couldn't remember what his dad had been doing. He

remembered his presence in the bathroom but after that John seemed to have checked

off into the background, leaving Dean to tend to his brother.

Now, however, the oldest hunter was fuming. He was pacing backwards and forwards

repeating to himself everything they knew about the spirit, shooting questions at the

brothers, constructing theories and strategies. Any theories, any strategies. He had

channeled all his fear from Sam's near death into white hot anger and then all the

anger into his sole obsession: hunting. Nobody hurts his familiy. Nobody._Not ever _

_again._He was going to get that son of a bitch.

He realised Dean had not answered a question he had thrown him and looked around

for his older son. He was sitting on Sam's bed silently rubbing his brothers back,

trying to calm the shaken boy. The barely conceiled terror in his eldest's eyes sent

another jolt of fear through John. _Not ever again._

"Dean!" He snapped, a tiny part of him aching when his son flinched at the harsh

tone. "Wake up! Are you going to help protect this family or are you planning on

sitting there useless?!"

Sam just sat there looking around in his home of the week. He stared at the cheap

stained wallpaper, the newspaper clippings, obits and crime scene photos covering

the walls, the charms and wards drawn in fat black charcoal in the corners, the lines

of salt in the windows. He stared at his big brother; tired and shellshocked, clutching

his styrofoam cup in a death grip. He stared at his father; raging and planning

revenge, talking to himself like a lunatic.

He couldn' breathe. In the dim light of the dingy room he could feel unberable

pressure pushing down on him, blocking out all sound or light, all oxigen. He

couldn't even hear his father any more, all he heard was a dark booming. _I'm still _

_drowning._ He thought to himself, almost lightheaded. _A bathtub? Hah! I'm sitting on _

_the bottom of the fucking ocean here!_

"Dad! Just. shut. up! " He heard himself shout.


	3. Chapter 3

_A.N. I'm very sorry for how late this chapter is up, it was a hard one to write. Thanks so much for the reviews on the last two. It's great to know you're not just talkin' to yourself... :) _

_Anyways:_

O

_He couldn't breathe. In the dim light of the dingy room he could feel unbearable pressure pushing down on him, blocking out all sound or light, all oxygen. He couldn't even hear his father any more, all he heard was a dark booming. I'm still drowning. He thought to himself, almost lightheaded. A bathtub? Hah! I'm sitting on the bottom of the fucking ocean here!_

_"Dad! Just. Shut. Up! " He heard himself shout. _

O

-"Can you just stop for a second and look at yourself? Look at us? This is insane! All we ever do is figure out how to kill things, except when we're trying to keep them from killing us. Can we just fucking stop for one lousy second!?"

-"I am trying to keep you and your brother alive Samuel." John replied, compleately taken aback by this sudden outburst. "And I expect you not to crack like this in the middle of a hunt. Not if you expect to survive."

-"God, how sick is that?!" Sam half shouted his voice strangely manic. "Dad, it's supposed to be about living, not surviving! We're always standing at the door of death and I'm sick of it. You're supposed to actually have a life before you die!"

A little voice at the back of Sam's head was yelling at him to stop right there. This could still be fixed. He could still just take some heat for using that language to his father and leave it at that. Turn back now, nothing broken. He knew if he said the things that were on his mind something would change for ever, and he was terrified. But the biggest part of him sang with relief. Something would change for ever? Good! Anything not to stay like this a minute longer.

-"Dad" He said, trying to make his voice sound calm again. "I got accepted into Stanford University, full ride. I want to go."

John walked over to the bed, towering over his son. -"Are you out of your mind? Why would you even apply for that? You're not going, Sam, we stick together."

-"Dad, it's one of the best colleges in the country and I got into it. It's not something you just turn down. Look, I can take care of myself, I don't always have to be attached to you guys. I just... I just want to have a life of my own."

_I can take care of myself! _John reeled. _No no no-_ this was just about a spirit, a spirit they were going to waste for ever coming near the family. Then they were going to move on to the next job and leave this whole mess behind... How the hell did it get to the point of his son proposing to move to another state? _The son whose heart hadn't been beating less than an hour before_... He clamped down on the though, and the fear and pain it brought with it. John Winchester had no use for fear and pain, they only got in the way. Scared and confused he gave into the anger already boiling inside him. It was the only feeling ever useful in a hunter's life.

-"So that's your idea of a life?" He growled. "Abandoning your family, everything we've been fighting for, to go write essays? You're not going and that's that. Now, pull your head out of your ass and get to work on tracking down this spirit!"

-"No Dad! I'm not hunting any more spirits!" Sam shouted as he sprung up off the bed. "Or demons or skinwalkers or werewolfs or anything else! It's just not worth it! It's not worth dying for and it's sure as hell not worth living like this."

-"Living like this?!" John repeated, also shouting now. " We save lives, Sam! You're too good for that?! You have an obligation. To this family and to the people we save, and you're not too good to do your goddamn job!"

-"You don't care about saving people! You just want revenge. Mom died 18 years ago and you're still just getting back at whatever you can, over and over again. The only reason you save anybody is because they happen to be around when you come for your fix."

_-"So now your own mother isn't worth it?" _John's voice was suddenly low, not much more than a hiss, but the intensity of it made Sam bite back his retort, watching his father warily. -"You selfish arrogant brat! You've never given a damn about anyone in this family. We spend all our time watching out for your sorry ass and this is how you thank us?"

-"Okay that's enough! Everybody just cool down!" Dean knew his brother had stepped over a line mentioning their mother and now he just wanted the fight stopped, as fast as possible. Standing between the other two, he half dragged, half pushed his father away from the bed, but John just shouted over his shoulder.

-"That's why you're always screwing up on the hunt, never paying attention to your training! Because you don't give a damn about protecting your brother or having our backs! Just about your precious grades and a pat on the head from some ignorant fools who don't have the faintest idea of what's going on around them!"

-"You know what, fine! I'm a useless selfish traitor!That's me!" Sam shouted back. "So what do you care if I go? Then you get more time to play soldier with your perfect carbon copy son. And then you can get the both of you killed any way you like!"

Wincing, Dean turned to face his brother but Sam just glowered at their father as if he wasn't even in the room. And Dean understood. In his brother's eyes he was part of it all; the life Sam hated, the hunting he thought was sick, the family he didn't want to belong to. Sam wanted to get away from it all, and that included Dean. The realization froze him to the spot. Unable to speak or move he simply watched as his world fell apart.

-"I didn't even know Mom and I still know what she'd think of this." Sam continued. "She wouldn't have wanted this for us. She would want us to be happy. Not waste our lives like this." He stepped closer to their father, compleatley livid by this point. -"Finding the thing that killed her won't change anything and I'm sick of pretending like it will."

-"Get out." John's face had gone perfectly white and as he stepped right up to his younger sons face Sam wondered if his father was going to punch him. But John just stood there, his voice shaking with rage, his eyes dark like thunderclouds. -"You want to leave so bad, go ahead. But then you don't even think of coming back. If we can't rely on you, then we're better off without you."

Wordlessly, Sam stormed to the dresser by his bed. He grabbed his duffel, randomly stuffing into it whatever he could find through the haze of tears now threatening to break free.

For the first time the youngest hunter glanced across to his brother and recoiled at the pain he saw in his face. _Carbon copy son. _Suddenly Sam felt exactly like the bastard his father had accused him of being. His throat constricted and the room was starting to feel like it was slowly spinning. He had to get out of there. Blindly, he ripped the door open.

-"Sam..."

His father's voice was low now, and exhausted. Still furious, but laced with pain.

But Sam simply slammed the door behind him.

O

_A.N. Again: So sorry about the delay in posting this, but like I said this chapter has been a bitch to write. John just flat out refused to communicate with me, Dean turned into a whimp all of sudden and then everyone turned all logical and to the point, which is so not what happens when you loose your temper... I think I wrestled it into more or less what it was supposed to be, but I'm still thinking I might have to rewrite a good deal. Maybe not though...? I wanted to post this it anyway. Let me know what you think :)_

_The plot is also suddenly starting to morph around in my hands, but I think 1-2 more chapters will see the end of this..._


	4. Chapter 4

_You know the disclaimer bit._

O

Nothing ever changed. That was the worst part. No, the worst part was the knowledge that he was capable of making things change, and he still didn't. He just breathed in the stale pointlessness every day until it slowly choked him. He didn't even feel desperate any more.

When he finally decided to just end it, all he felt was vaguely glad that at last something was going to be different. For ever. He lay down in the bottom of the worn bathtub and never felt the smallest desire to get up again. And it was a different Thomas Warren that stuck around.

O

Sam stretched and tried to rub at least some of the weariness from his face with his hands. Almost three days of hitch hiking had not been kind to his aching muscles, but under the bone- tiredness he felt a strange new surge of energy. He waved goodbye to his last ride- a banker named Fiona- and walked towards the center of town. The autumn sun bathing Palo Alto brought out the colors on the sidewalks and warmed his sore back as he ambled along. He looked around and the thought struck him that he was going to live here for years. Longer than he had ever lived anywhere in his life. _Funny that the change would be to stop changing._

Passing a sidewalk café, he dug up the last few dollars from his pocket. They'd be enough for a badly needed cup of coffee.

_He'd stood alone under the fluorescent lights of the bus station and the woman in the ticket office told him he was lucky. There was a bus going to L.A. that night, and he'd be able to catch another one to Palo Alto from there. He thanked her, took out his wallet and then froze stiff, holding it in his hand. He knew there were only a few dollars in there. Other than that, the wallet held an impressive selection of fake credit cards and ID's courtesy of John Winchester. He could buy his ticket to freedom under the highly respectable names of Michael Sage, Milo Warner or Terry Brown. Without another word he turned around, walked out of the station and dumped the whole array of cards in the bin. He could already feel old habits and instincts trying to pull him back. It would be so easy to carry his father's lifestyle away with him. Just the thought made him feel sick. _

Maybe that was why he hadn't called Dean. Wouldn't call Dean.

He decided to forgo the coffee and walked towards campus, fidgeting with the one ID he'd kept. The one with his real name on it.

O

John found it that day. _Thomas Warren_.

The obit had been so secretive, so subtly worded, that it hadn't even registered as a suicide on his first round of research. Not until he'd spent almost three days buried in files, going over every piece of paper again and again, did it finally click. At last he could salt'n'burn and get the hell out of here. Leave this mess behind. A part of him could even believe, that Sammy would be in the back seat as they drove away victorious. That defeating the spirit would somehow make everything right, make him not have told his boy to leave forever. That winning the battle would make everything worth it ... this time around. It was a believe that had followed him for 18 years. By now, it was part of him.

Triumphantly, his finger landed on Warren's name in the cemetery registry. _The bastard was gonna burn. _

O

Dean watched his father dig, leaning on his own shovel and holding the flashlight trained on the grave. The shovel's wooden handle felt familiar in his palm, worn and slightly splintered. He breathed in the vague scent of gasoline and moist dirt being upturned, and it brought a strange comfort._ Sammy had been right. _

Dean was part of it all: the world of hunting. The lifestyle, the patterns, the instincts were all ingrained in him to the point of second nature. Scratch that, just nature. Dean was the one that had been mistaken. He'd thought he was part of something else too.

He went to take his turn with the shovel, the handle of his gun pressing against his back as he jumped into the hole his father had dug. _So much for wishful thinking._

O

Sam hadn't salted the windows. He couldn't bring himself to do that any more than to use those credit cards. But now he couldn't stop staring at the clean white window sill in the half dark. It wasn't that he was afraid, though. It was the emptiness of it that kept him up. He pulled out his phone for what must have been the hundredth time and scrolled down to Dean without dialing. He sat there in the dark for a while, the light from the cell phone casting a bluish glow on the room around him.

And what it illuminated was normal. It looked like a place you could let your guard down. Start something new.

O

As Dean watched Warren's corpse burst into flames, Sam took a deap breath. It was the gulp you take when you finally clear the waves you thought would drown you. And then he put the phone down.

_**A.N.** Huh, an entire chapter with no dialog... I didn't think that was possible :) But then again: who of the Winchesters would have felt like talking?_

_Anyway, thanks so much for reading this story, and BIG HUG if you took the time to review :) I do apologize for the sporadic updating, it's not done out of lack of caring or respect just you know... life gets in the way (stupid life...) But I do promise not to be this bad again, and yes I think I can actually keep that promise... : ) It will be a while until I post something new but I am working on it and I'll definitely be a regular in the reading part :) See u around._

_P.S Phew, that was an angstfest wasn't it? Next time 'round I promise there'll be at least one joke :)_


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